"Please may I have that mug of coffee before I scream?" He held out his hand expectantly.

"Lucky for you I'm in a charitable mood today." She thrust the mug into his large hand and watched as he took a long, satisfying swallow. Her flippant words didn't quite hide the shadowed concern in her eyes. Jed decided he liked the sympathy he saw in her near-green gaze. He wouldn't mind wallowing in it for a while.

"Thank you," Jed murmured after the first taste of the reviving coffee. "I may survive after all." He kept himself propped on one elbow, the mug cradled in his fist, and took another swallow.

"How do you feel?" Amy asked gently.

"As I said earlier, like h.e.l.l."

"Succinct and to the point. Want some breakfast?"

He eyed her with faint amus.e.m.e.nt. "You are feeling charitable today, aren't you? I get to spend the night in your bed and now you're going to feed me breakfast. This is indeed the best of all possible worlds."

Her mouth tilted at the corners. "You're an easily satisfied man."

"A simple soul with simple tastes," he agreed, and made a gallant effort to sit up on the edge of the bed.

"Ah. Success." He ignoredihe dull ache in his thigh. Across the room his gaze fell on an airy structure made of thin bra.s.s wire. Technically, it was a bird cage designed to look like a Baroque Italian villa. But Amy had filled the delicate, exotic bird house with a healthy looking plant instead of parakeets. Green leaves poked through the colonnade, thrust their way out of the dome and peeked through the elegantly vaulted windows and doorways.

Amy saw the direction of his gaze. "What do you think? I decided it made a great planter."

Jed felt an instant flare of anger. "You bought it."

"Of course I bought it. I love it."

"I told you not to buy it. I said I'd give it to you if you wanted it."

"And I explained I couldn't let you give me something that expensive," Amy reminded him patiently.

"It's a work of art."

"It's a hobby," he told her flatly.

"You must have spent hours on it."

"That's what hobbies are for. Dammit, Amy, I can't believe you paid three hundred bucks for that thing."

"The gallery owner gave me a slight discount because she knew I was a friend of the artist."

"Oh, yeah? How much of a slight discount did Connie give you?" Jed challenged.

"Ten percent. If you ask me, you're letting those cages go too cheap. That's what I told Connie, too. I think you should be charging five hundred for the small cages like this one and seven-fifty or eight hundred for the large ones. Maybe more."

Jed heaved himself to his feet. "When I decide to get an agent, I'll consult you. In the meantime, no more sneaking around behind my back buying my bird cages without my permission, understand?"

Her eyes widened innocently. "The coffee doesn't seem to be doing much for your mood. I didn't realize you have this surly side to your nature."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about my nature, aren't there?" Jed asked darkly as he made his way painfully to the bathroom.

"Probably as many things as you don't know about mine." Amy vanished from the doorway, leaving the cool jibe hanging in the air behind her.

Jed groaned, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. He was not handling his first morning in Amy's home with the finesse, tact and diplomacy a woman had a right to expect. After all, he reminded himself grimly as he planted both hands on the old cracked washbasin and leaned forward to study the rough, dark stubble on his face, he wasn't her lover. He was a politely tolerated friend she could choose to kick out at any moment.

He didn't want to be kicked out. Not just yet. He wanted to maintain the fantasy of being home a little while longer.

Jed reached over and turned on the shower, aware that he was secretly pleased Amy had liked the Baroque bird cage enough to buy it. What didn't please him was that at one point he had offered to give her the cage and she politely refused. He had recognized the refusal for what it was, a deliberate effort to keep their relationship free of various bonds, obligations and entanglements. As a gift it was too much in her eyes. When it came to presents she preferred a bunch of brightly colored flowers now and then. At the time she had refused the cage he told himself he appreciated the gesture because it had rea.s.sured him he made the right decision when he had decided to get involved with Amelia Slater. She wanted exactly what he wanted out of an affair: casual companionship and good s.e.x. But he never quite forgot the odd sensation of rejection he had experienced the day she declined his gift.

Nor had he ever gotten the good s.e.x. The affair had never quite gelled. It seemed to have stalled at the friendship stage.

The first time he saw her she had been intently studying the cage in Caliph's Bay Gallery. Jed had stopped in to chat with Connie Erickson, the owner, and to deliver another cage. Connie treated him as she treated all the rather eccentric craftspeople and artists she represented, with a kind of affectionate tolerance. Jed encouraged her to do so. The image of himself as an eccentric craftsman worked well for him in Caliph's Bay, a town overrun by the type. It allowed him to fit in nicely. But then, finding protective covers was another of his odd a.s.sortment of talents.

He'd spotted Amy crouched in front of the Baroque piece, examining each minute architectural detail with obvious delight. It was clear she was enchanted and her pleasure had intrigued him. Since he designed and built the cage, Jed figured he had the perfect opening line.

She had responded to his overture. He was pleased to find out she lived in town and was not just a pa.s.sing tourist. A day spent together in Carmel visiting art galleries had quickly followed. After that there had been a couple of dinners together and one or two afternoon walks on the beach. She had shown an interest in his bird cages and he had found the fact that she wrote science fiction and fantasy fascinating.

She didn't look the type, he had told her.

"What does the type look like?" she'd countered.

"I don't know," he'd admitted.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you don't look the type to build beautiful bird cages."

"I'm an engineer," he'd explained. "For a while, when I was younger, I also wanted to be an architect.

The cages are a hobby. I don't make my living with them."

"How do you make your living?"

"Engineering consulting work. My firm has several overseas projects. I travel a lot." The lies always came easily. He had been telling them for years.

"Do you like it?"

He had shrugged, a little surprised by the question. "I don't know. It's what I do."

Amy had nodded, as if understanding perfectly. She also seemed to understand that he had said all he intended to say about his job. Her tolerant acceptance of the limits he established intrigued him, although he had other lies ready if she ever asked more questions. She never had, and Jed was pleased. He shied away from the thought of telling Amy any more lies than absolutely necessary.

Lazily, feeling no need to rush the affair and determined not to jeopardize the light, undemanding aspects of the relationship, Jed had set out to seduce Amy. But he had quickly discovered that moving beyond casual friendship wasn't going to be that easy. He soon learned there was something jumpy, almost frightened about Amy. She used the pose of friend almost like a shield to protect herself.

He was working on the problem when he had gotten the first a.s.signment he had received since meeting her. As usual, there was very little time to say good-bye. Jed hadn't been certain what to expect from her when he told her he was leaving the country so suddenly, but he had been rea.s.sured by her obvious lack of concern. She had even offered to drive him to the airport, but he'd refused for the same reasons she refused to take the bird cage.

He hadn't been feeling as casual two weeks later when he returned. He had begun thinking of Amy on the plane and by the time he landed in Monterey he'd been craving her. It was not unusual to want a woman after an a.s.signment, but it was new for him to want a particular woman as badly as he had wanted Amy. Knowing the need for s.e.xual release was riding him far too hard, he had decided to make himself wait a couple of days before getting in touch with Amy. His resolution had lasted about twelve hours. He was on her doorstep the evening after he'd returned.

He learned his lesson that night. When he got home the second time he had forced himself firmly under control before casually stopping by to say h.e.l.lo. Her wariness was both frustrating and inexplicable, but he couldn't bear the thought of frightening her or causing her pain.

For a while he had wondered if she was simply the kind of woman who worried excessively about her reputation. Caliph's Bay was a small town, granted, but it was hardly straitlaced. It was a haven for struggling artists, writers and a.s.sorted craftspeople, not exactly the sort of community where people worried very much about what others thought. And Amy was definitely too much of an independent spirit to run her life any way but her own. After a short period of consideration, Jed scratched the theory that she was too conservative to engage in an affair.

He had gone on to Theory Number Two, which was that she might be gay. But he sc.r.a.pped that notion when he remembered the deep, feminine awareness in her eyes the first time she had seen his clawing desire. All his instincts told him she was a woman who could respond to the right man. That had led to Theory Number Three: He might not be the right man. That thought had not done much for Ms ego.

It hadn't been easy psyching himself down to something resembling casual friendliness when he had returned from mat second a.s.signment. The fierce need for her had begun eating at him as soon as he had boarded the plane back to the States. He'd thought about stopping off in L.A. and looking up an old acquaintance who might be willing to drain some of his tension. But he had sensed that wouldn't work; another woman wasn't the answer.

He thought he'd done a pretty fair job of covering up the desire he felt that second time, but he knew she had seen the traces of s.e.xual heat in him. Once again she treated the flames with wine and food and casual, undemanding conversation. He left the house to the strains of the Beach Boys' "Surfin' Safari;"

Amy's protective wall of friendship was stronger than ever. But Jed knew that his resistance to the idea of crashing through it was weakening rapidly.

Then had come this last fiasco of an a.s.signment. Jed clenched his teeth as he stepped into the shower and concentrated on his leg. He was going to have to change the bandage when he got out. Best to keep Amy out of the room while he did it. He looked down and grimaced. Christ, that bullet had been close.

A little higher and he wouldn't have had to worry about trying to seduce Amy.

Out in the kitchen Amy heard the shower go off and waited expectantly for the sound of the bathroom door opening. She didn't want to put the oatmeal on the stove until Jed was almost ready to eat. The phone rang just as she was measuring water into the pan. This time when she picked up the receiver, her intuition was accurate. Even if she hadn't guessed who would" be on the line the distant static was a good clue. Private telephone service had come to Orleana Island's little corner of the Pacific about fifteen years before, but it hadn't yet reached the level of quality one expected in the States.

"h.e.l.lo, Dad. Are you and Mom finished packing yet?"

"Your mother has that end of things under control, as usual." Douglas Slater's deep, hearty voice was not dimmed one bit by the telephone line. His was a voice that had dominated the boardroom and presidential suite of Slater Aero, Inc. for years. It held the essence of a still vigorous man who was facing his sixties with the same determination that he'd used to build and hold together his successful aeros.p.a.ce manufacturing firm.

"I'm not surprised." Amy half smiled at the thought of her mother's exceptional organizational talents.

Gloria Slater had brought the task of being the perfect corporate executive's wife to the level of a fine art.

If she'd been born a little later, she probably would have been an executive herself, not the wife of one.

"Let's see, you two leave for London on the fifteenth, right? That's next week. You must be swamped trying to get ready." It was a desperate bid to avoid the unavoidable. Amy wasn't at all surprised when it failed. Douglas Slater was too shrewd to let her off the hook that easily.

"Plenty of time. Listen, honey, we've got a great idea," Slater announced. His tone was still jovial, but it held an underlying insistent edge. "Your mom and I have decided that what you need is a vacation. Come to the island this week. You can help Gloria finish the packing, do a little diving, eat a few home cooked meals and relax. On the fifteenth you can see us off on the plane. Then you can stay as long as you like at the house. Plan on a month."

"Dad, I'm really busy at the moment-"

"You need some time off, Amy," her father interrupted firmly. "Don't you think I know the signs? h.e.l.l, I saw them often enough in the people who worked for me over the years. For the past few months you've been getting more and more concerned about your writing. Too concerned. It's obvious you're starting to feel the stress. You haven't come to see us for over eight months. You know how you love this place. I'm worried about you. When I was running Slater Aero I saw more than one good man burn himself out just as he started to taste a little success. Selling that science fiction series last year put some real pressure on you. I'll bet you've been spending the past few months worrying about whether you'll be able to do the same thing again this year, haven't you? I've got news for you, honey: If you don't learn to relax again, you won't be able to keep up the pace."

"Dad, it's not a question of relaxing." Amy leaned back against the kitchen counter, absently ma.s.saging her temples as she tried to marshal her arguments. But even as she made the effort, she felt herself weakening. Sooner or later she would have to go back to the island. She couldn't put it off forever. "I'm right in the middle of a book and I wanted to get it finished before I took some time off."

"It would mean a lot to both your mother and me if you could manage a few days with us before we leave for London, Amy."

Amy groaned. "Come on, Dad. Mother might resort to this approach, but I always thought you were above using the old guilt trip routine."

"I'm desperate."

"You must be." There was a small sound to Amy's left. She glanced up and law Jed leaning in the kitchen doorway, b.u.t.toning his shirt while he listened with unabashed interest. "Look, I'll think about it, okay?

I'll see what I can do about my schedule."

"Call me tomorrow and let me know what you decide," Slater said bluntly. "I'll tell your mother you're thinking about it. She'll be thrilled. I'll take care of the tickets."

"Dad-"

"Listen, don't try to tell me you don't want to come to the island because of the accident. LePage was a fool and he paid the price. It was a tragic event, yes, but there's absolutely no reason to let it upset you forever. Accidents happen."

Amy froze. "I know that. It's got nothing to do with what happened to Bob. It's just that I-"

"Good. He was a nice enough guy and the whole thing was very unfortunate, but you shouldn't let it get to you. And I know you weren't in love with him so it's not as if you're pining, right? Come and see us, honey."

"Dad-"

It was too late. Douglas Slater had already hung up the phone. Amy tossed her receiver back into the cradle, crossed her arms under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and glared at Jed.

"Hey, I'm innocent," he said, holding up a protesting hand. "I'm just hanging around for breakfast."

Amy smiled ruefully and turned back to the stove. "Sorry. That was my father. He's accustomed to having people do as he wants. Right now he wants me to go visit him and Mom before they leave for Europe."

"And you don't want to go?"

Amy became very busy with the oatmeal. "I don't really want to go to the island."

"The island?"

"My father's retired. For years he's maintained a second home on a little dot of an island a few hundred miles beyond Hawaii. We used to go there for every vacation when I was a kid. Now that he's no longer going into the office every day, he and Mom spend most of the year there. Mom paints and Dad's writing a book on management."

"Why don't you want to visit them?"

Amy shrugged. "No good reason, I guess. It's just that I'm right in the middle of Private Demons and I was hoping to finish it soon. I hate to take time off in the middle of a book. Dad says he's worried about me. But that's nothing new. He's always worried about me."

"Yeah? Why?" Jed eased himself down onto a stool and hooked the cane over the edge of the counter.

He studied Amy with deep interest as she added a handful of raisins to the cereal.

"Probably because I'm the youngest. And probably because I'm cla.s.sified as the black sheep of the family. You have to understand that my older sister is a board certified gynecologist, one of my brothers has taken over the running of my father's firm and is making Slater Aero even more profitable than it has been in the past, and my other brother is a successful attorney who's about to enter politics in a big way here in California. I, on the other hand, am twenty-seven years old and have spent half my adult life waiting tables and taking night cla.s.ses in everything from surrealist painting to an intensive, in-depth study of the hard evidence for flying saucers."

"I get the picture," Jed said dryly. "You're not maintaining the family standards. But now you've actually sold a book. A three-part series, in fact, and you're writing another book. Doesn't that count?"

"Dad thinks I'm going to burn out on my first taste of success. Not that I'm likely to go too crazy on the microscopic advance I got for the Shadow series. And the advance on Private Demons wasn't much better, believe me."

"He thinks you're working too hard?"

"I guess." She finished stirring the oatmeal and ladled it into two bowls. "He should talk after the way he battled to push Slater Aero to the top years ago."

"How long since you've been back to the island?"

"A little over eight months." She concentrated on taking flie milk out of the refrigerator and setting it down on the counter, aware of the nervous tension that sometimes made her remarkably clumsy these days. With a little self-discipline she could control it, she knew. But when she safely set the milk down on the counter top in front of Jed, he only frowned at it.

"I usually just have coffee and a doughnut in the morning."

"Well, I usually have oatmeal and grapefruit," she declared stoutly. "Just another little item to add to our storehouse of knowledge about each other's habits and eccentricities."

"I haven't had oatmeal since I was a kid." He examined the bowl of gray cereal distrustfully.

"Throw a little brown sugar on it and it will go down as easily as a doughnut. Trust me. Besides, it's good for you. You need to regain your strength." Amy handed him the sugar bowl, plunked down the twin halves of a grapefruit she had prepared earlier and slid onto a stool beside him.

"So who's Bob?" Jed asked casually as he dug into the grapefruit.